Padre Pio

Padre Pio

Stories From Those Who Knew Him

Roberto Allegri

translated by Martina Adani

© 2021 Ancora SRL

All rights reserved.

Published by The Word Among Us Press

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Originally published as I miei diletti figliuoli by Ancora Editrice in 2021.

27 26 25 24 23 1 2 3 4 5

ISBN: 978-1-59325-561-9

eISBN: 978-1-59325-563-3

Unless otherwise noted, Scripture texts in this work are taken from the New American Bible, revised edition © 2010, 1991, 1986, 1970 Confraternity of Christian Doctrine, Washington, D.C., and are used by permission of the copyright owner. All rights reserved. No part of the New American Bible may be reproduced in any form without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

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Introduction

Ihaveheard about Padre Pio ever since I was a child. My father, Renzo Allegri, who worked as a journalist, met him in 1967 on assignment as a special reporter for the Italian magazine Gente. It turned out to be a special encounter since, following that assignment, most of my father’s works have focused on that mysterious friar who lived in the Gargano area. I grew up listening to the stories my father told me about him. I remember that my father would always get emotional. Even today, when my father talks about Padre Pio, he has a special light on his face, like the light at dawn, full of promises and sweetness.

“I met Padre Pio in April 1967,” my father told me. “He was old and very sick. He died the following year. What impressed me the most were not the wonders he worked that people would talk. It was rather the strength released by his personality, a moral strength that was visible. I saw him walking towards me, bent in the hallway of the monastery. His feet must have felt like lead; he was limping and leaning on the walls so that he would not fall. It was sad to see him walking in those conditions. I could feel his sufferings; I could understand how deep his pain was. However, he did not complain. He was indeed willing to help those who needed it most. And then there was his gaze. When he raised his head and looked at you, his eyes were on fire. But at the same time, they were so full of kindness that they made you speechless.

I was in San Giovanni Rotondo for work, and I had my camera with me. When I was close enough to him, I took some pictures, but the flash blinded him. He shouted, ‘Stop it!’ The look on his face was scary. All he wanted was to pray and have a quiet existence. I had no idea that there were other people, such as interfering photographers, who were trying to find out rumors about his life. I said to him, ‘Father, I am just doing my job.’ All of a sudden, he was appeased, as if the wind had blown on his face, calming him down. He came close to me, leaned on me, and asked me to go with him. I was holding him up; I was carrying him. I realized how painful his feet must have felt. Some people said that he had developed stigmata on his feet, even though not many people knew about it. He was undoubtedly suffering. Padre Pio was a man who suffered tremendously, enduring his pain like a hero.

“A short time before meeting Padre Pio, I had met Fr. Mario Mason, a Jesuit who told me how, in 1959, Our Lady of Fatima had miraculously healed Padre Pio. Nowadays the episode is well-known, but back then no one knew about it. That year, Padre Pio was ill, and he had not left his cell for several months. At that time, the statue of Our Lady of Fatima was being carried on a pilgrimage, and it was taken to the most important Italian dioceses. The statue was carried to the monastery of San Giovanni Rotondo, where it was kept for two days thanks to some of Padre Pio’s friends. Despite his health issues, Padre Pio managed to pray in front of the statue, which was later helicoptered to its next destination. Padre Pio saw it through a window and said, ‘Madonnina, when you got here, I was sick. Now you are about to leave, and I am still sick . . . ’ Suddenly he started shaking. It looked like a current went straight through his body, and he was instantly healed. Fr. Mason had told me about that episode, and on that day in April, when I met Padre Pio, I wanted to ask

him about it. As soon as I mentioned the episode, he burst into tears. He was sobbing like a child, and he mumbled ‘Yes, yes, I recovered thanks to Our Lady . . . !’ Later, the father superior of the monastery explained to me that each time Padre Pio tried to talk about his recovery, he would get emotional and cry, and be unable to finish his story.”

I guess Padre Pio and my father discussed other topics, but I never found out about them. It belongs to my father’s personal life, and I do not wish to cross the line. My father’s career focused on writings about Padre Pio. He published hundreds of articles and dozens of books. This shows that something must have happened during their meeting. As the next pages will demonstrate, all those who met Padre Pio were positively affected by him. My father kept saying that, despite his sufferings, Padre Pio was a role model when it came to optimism: he believed in the future. According to my father, “He was and keeps being a hopeful man. In spite of severe difficulties throughout his life, Padre Pio always infused people with love and trust. He never stopped; his faith was so solid. . . . He believed in progress, and the hospital conceived by him was, since its opening, ahead of its time. Above all, Padre Pio was the embodiment of God’s mercy. He was really affectionate, and he loved people. He used to cry with the desperate ones and laugh with those that were happy. Some people claim that his manners were abrupt. One day, one of his brothers, Fr. Pellegrino, complained about it. Padre Pio told him, ‘I act this way because I do not want emotions to overpower me. I am about to cry when I meet people who are suffering, and I would not be able to keep doing my job.’”

But what was it like to talk to Padre Pio? How did it feel when you looked in his eyes and when he looked back at you? How was his voice? And how did he use to pray? What was it like to watch him celebrating Mass while he was limping? What did his

stigmata look like? And then, how was Padre Pio’s daily life in the monastery? What was his schedule? What did he like to eat and drink? Is it true that he liked tobacco?

These are some of the questions about Padre Pio that I have always asked myself. These questions are not related to my job as a journalist. Nor do I wish to explain his personality to readers because I believe it would be impossible to illustrate a saint. The reason behind these questions is that I feel envious of the people who had the privilege of meeting him and being close to him. This makes me ask these people: please, tell me all the details! The more details I have, the easier it is to envision Padre Pio next to me, here and now.

I have read many books about Padre Pio to find the answers to these questions. I especially enjoy reading the books that were published while he was still alive by people who were close to him and whose feelings were sincere. They are important books that convey the beauty of being in contact with a saint. They are brave books as well because back then, part of the Church opposed Padre Pio, and it was therefore risky to share certain opinions, especially if you were a religious person. However, his personality was too intense, and people could not be silenced. Many of them felt the urgency to share with the world the wonders they had witnessed and that were occurring thanks to that bearded friar who lived in the Gargano area.

Nevertheless, these books were not enough for me. Something was missing: it was the gaze and the voice of those who had met Padre Pio in person. It is different to perceive the excitement in the people’s voices, to listen to their memories, to see the trembling light in their eyes full of tears. It is different to feel the hands of the witnesses, clasping your arm while they tell you their stories because they want to assure you they are telling the truth, and they wish to instill their emotions in you. I was looking for these

people: Padre Pio’s friends, the ones he talked with, those who held him up while he was walking. I was also looking for those individuals who had only met him once, but that meeting was enough to change them, to receive a gift, to be shaken.

Padre Pio died more than fifty years ago. Most of his friends are no longer with us. The people who met him or that simply attended his Mass are now old. We risk losing these precious experiences. We also risk losing that light in the gaze of these people, which shows the sweetness of the truth. These stories need to be kept and saved. I have been writing about Padre Pio for twenty years. I had the chance to talk to many people, and I have gathered together several stories. Most of these people have died, but I managed to listen to them in time. When it was not possible to talk with the witnesses, I spoke with their children or grandchildren, and I found out that their memories about Padre Pio were passed on within the family.

In the next pages, you will find what I was told by friends and brothers, relatives, men and women who had met Padre Pio when they were children growing up near the monastery, and also by doctors, artists, journalists, and pilgrims who came to San Giovanni Rotondo looking for consolation. Each one of them, as with an imaginary paintbrush, added a personal touch to the painting that portrays a great saint. They say, with their moved voices, “I met him.”

“Time Had No Meaning � ”

“PadrePio was the one looking for me, like a father who looks for his child. It was July 1947, and I was seventeen years old. I went to San Giovanni Rotondo for the first time, and it turned out to be an overwhelming experience, the most all-encompassing experience of my life. From that moment, Padre Pio has never left me alone. He is always close to me. He never abandons me.”

Mrs. Ida Bartolucci radiates such an explosive peace of mind; it hits you like a gust of wind. She is ninety years old, but she doesn’t look it. Her manners and the way she speaks are elegant, and her gaze is very sweet. She has always been a housewife. She raised four children, and for thirty years, she has been taking people to Padre Pio’s grave on pilgrimages. She lives in a beautiful place. Belvedere Fogliense is a little village in the hills surrounding Urbino. The silence here is almost absolute, and the landscape makes your heart sing. Mrs. Ida immediately agrees to tell me about her meeting with Padre Pio, with a tissue in her hands, because she can’t talk about him without getting emotional.

“In 1947, the war had been over for two years, and people wanted to find a job and move on with their lives. Nobody talked

about Padre Pio. Only a few people knew him, and even fewer had met him. At that time, I lived in Rome with my parents, and I worked in a wool factory. One of my friends went to Apulia on her honeymoon. Somebody told her about a friar who lived in the Gargano area, so she went to San Giovanni Rotondo. She was impressed. She brought me a gift: it was a little book, very small, with Padre Pio’s picture on the cover. The size was that of a passport photo. However, there was a whole mountain within that square inch: it magnetized me. I looked at it, at Padre Pio’s picture, and I felt the need to go there. To him. I tried to deny it. I told myself it was a long trip, that I was too young, and it could be dangerous. But it was useless. It looked like Padre Pio was calling me, and his call was too intense. I decided to travel with a friend of mine so that I would not be alone. We waited for the factory to give us a three days’ leave, and we left for Apulia. When I saw Padre Pio, right there in front of me, I was overwhelmed by an unbelievable power.

“Padre Pio celebrated Mass at five in the morning, but you had to wait in line at four o’clock. We were all standing in line, in the darkness, in front of the closed door of the monastery. Then, at the time of the celebration, the doors were opened, and the pilgrims filled the little church, trying to get as close as possible to Padre Pio. On that day, I saw him celebrating Mass, and I actually understood its meaning. I have never forgotten it. His Mass was a mystery, so deep and mystical. It has been stated on different occasions, and it has been written about in many books, that during Mass, Padre Pio’s body lived through Christ’s Passion again. And it was true; I witnessed it. Padre Pio suffered physically, and everyone could see it. I saw his face crumpling, with his staring eyes, and his mouth seemed to be about to scream. It was hard for him to breathe, he attempted to stand, and he leaned on the altar. His face was covered with

sweat and tears. It was heart-wrenching; we were all witnesses of a torture. The people were on their knees, crying. Everybody was suffering together with him. It felt like the sufferings were never going to end, but then it was time for the Consecration. Padre Pio raised the host, and he held it with his outstretched arms. Some people say he could hold it up for half an hour. He did the same with the goblet. He was ecstatic again and again during Mass. He used to suddenly look up and start talking to someone only he could see. Watching a man going into ecstasies is overwhelming: he is made of light, and you are aware of his soul leaving his body. Mass lasted more than two hours, but none of the people felt the exhaustion or the pain in their legs after all that time kneeling. Everybody was focusing on Padre Pio, on the sacrifice he was experiencing. Time no longer had a meaning. Later, following Holy Communion, Padre Pio was different; he became bright and peaceful. We could all notice his spiritual joy. I have no doubts: watching him was like watching Jesus.

“I did not manage to talk to him on that occasion, in 1947. There was no time; I had to go back to work. If you wished to confess to Padre Pio, you had to book him in advance, and the wait could last days. Even though I did not have the opportunity to talk to him, when I was back home, I felt different. I had lived a one-of-a-kind experience. I really thought that the monastery was my future and that I was going to become a nun. But God had different plans for me. I went to Pesaro on vacation, and I met Matteo, who later became my husband. I was in love, but I was hesitating. I did not know if the right choice was to accept his courting or to devote myself to God. One night I had a dream: I was in a room with two of my previous suitors that I had rejected. Suddenly, Matteo was also there, and I heard a very sweet voice that said, ‘This one is for you.’

“I woke up, and I had no doubts. Matteo and I were married in 1952, and we immediately visited Padre Pio to be blessed.

“I remember it as if it happened yesterday. He was in the confessional, which was open because he could not breathe normally, and he needed fresh air. Matteo and I were newlyweds. We bent on our knees, in front of him. My joined hands were on Padre Pio’s legs, and he kindly looked at us, smiling. I was surrounded by a beautiful floral scent, similar to a dense scented fog. It was an indescribable moment. I told him, ‘Father, we are on our honeymoon. We ask you for your blessing, both for us and for our families at home.’ He opened his arms and looked up to the sky. ‘Congratulations! May God help you with your new family. May he grant you several children.’ His words, his deep voice, the sweetness of his tone: I can still feel all of it if I think about it, even now.

“Then, Padre Pio put his hands on our heads, and that was the most significant moment. I can’t tell you the happiness I felt at that time; it is impossible to describe it. It was not an earthly happiness, but it was rather coming from heaven, I am sure. It was too uplifting. He gave us his hand so that we could kiss it. I gently took it between my hands, and I noticed that there was a hole on its back, where the bones were supposed to be. The glove that covered his hand was so thin that I could easily see the wound beneath it. I kissed his hand twice. I was holding it, and it took me a while before sharing it with my husband. As I said, it was an amazing experience. Unforgettable.

“Our life together began, and it was not easy. My husband was not doing well. During the Second World War, he had been a prisoner of war in Germany, an experience that had deeply affected him. Matteo was suffering from a severe depression, but it was not considered an illness back then. Doctors did not know how to handle it. He was depressed, and I was pregnant with our

fourth child. We were poor, but I still trusted God. That is why I often used to sing: to distract Matteo from his gloomy thoughts and to share my good mood with the children. However, we are weak creatures, and we easily fall apart. One night indeed, I was too discouraged, and I burst into tears. But suddenly, something occurred to me. I remembered that Padre Pio had told his spiritual children to send their guardian angel to him when they were scared. I decided to do it. I went to my bedroom, and I started praying, ‘My Guardian Angel, go visit Padre Pio. Ask him if he can heal my husband and if he can find us a job. Please, ask him also to help me with my pregnancy.’

“Three days later the postman came by with a letter for me from San Giovanni Rotondo. It was strange because I did not know anyone from there, so nobody could have my address. I opened it. It was handwritten by Angelo Battisti, the administrator of the hospital Casa Sollievo della Sofferenza. It was the answer to my prayers. He wrote, ‘Dear Mrs., Padre Pio asked me to inform you that he will pray for you, for your husband’s health, and for the finances of your family. He sends you his blessings.’ In a short time, our lives changed. My husband got better, and soon after that, an unexpected job improved our family’s situation. However, I still had to deal with my difficult pregnancy. The doctors thought I would not be able to give birth. But one night I had a dream. There was a friar with his brown tunic, and a voice told me, ‘You are suffering, but do not worry. You will have a good son, who will travel around the world.’ A few days later, Stefano was born. He is a famous musician now, he constantly travels around the world, as I was told in my dream. Every day he brings the beauty of music somewhere.

“This is my story. The least I could do to reciprocate Padre Pio’s loving presence was to take the pilgrims to him. I keep doing it. It is tiring but I am happy. I know he is happy, too. Five years

ago, I led a group of pilgrims with more than a hundred people. When we left the cathedral in San Giovanni Rotondo, I saw a friar among the crowd. It was Padre Pio! I immediately recognized him because of his beard, his cowl, and his slow pace. I followed him and stopped in front of him. I cried out, ‘You are Padre Pio!’ He did not deny it. With his hand, he made the sign of the cross and answered, ‘God bless you!’”

“He Used to Call Me Pitturì � ”

Ona beautiful autumn day, I went to Florence to meet Antonio Ciccone. The sky was so clear; it felt like being in a painting. We decided to meet in his workshop in the center of Florence. It is a sunny attic full of paintings. Antonio is usually reluctant to talk about himself, but when I explained to him on the phone that I wanted to talk about Padre Pio, he did not hesitate. Antonio was born in San Giovanni Rotondo in 1939, and he is now a famous international artist. He was one of Pietro Annigoni’s students, and he put on more than two hundred personal exhibitions in Europe and in the United States, where he lived for almost fifteen years. Most of his works focus on Padre Pio. Many of them can be found at Casa Sollievo della Sofferenza, in the monastery, and in different locations in San Giovanni Rotondo. Some of them belong to important collections in Great Britain and in the United States. Between 1986 and 1987, Antonio displayed his works on Padre Pio and on the nature of Gargano in the UK and Ireland. I was told that he had known Padre Pio very well when he was a child and that the friar was precisely the one who encouraged him to study art.

Once I got comfortable in a room with a big painting of Padre Pio holding the rosary, Antonio told me, “I owe him everything. Thanks to him I had the chance to study. When I was a child, I was a shepherd in San Giovanni Rotondo, but when I was seven years old, I discovered the joy of drawing. From that moment, all I wanted to do was to become an artist. However, my family did not have the means to support me, so I asked Padre Pio for advice. He smiled at me and said, ‘God’s Providence will help you soon.’ And it was true.”

Antonio wore a beret on his head, round glasses, and a green scarf around his neck. He had long hair. He watched me closely before sharing his story with me. I could not tell if he was interested in my face from an artistic point of view or if he was trying to understand something, such as if he could tell me about his childhood. His smile revealed his decision.

“Elvira Serritelli was my first and second grade teacher in elementary school. She was one of Padre Pio’s spiritual children. She took me to church early in the morning so that I could see the friar everybody was talking about. I began to confess to him. I remember that sometimes he was very sweet, while on other occasions, he was harsh and almost scary. One day, in the confessional, he frightened me by asking, ‘Were the cherries tasty?’ I felt so embarrassed. While I had been grazing the cows in the countryside, I had stolen several cherries, and I had eaten them. No one had noticed me, but Padre Pio knew everything.

“Then, drawing began to fascinate me. I was drawing all the time, everywhere, using different tools, such as pieces of charcoal or brick fragments. In the early 1950s, I started drawing portraits of Padre Pio. I used to spy on him during Mass. I observed his face when I confessed to him, and I would later depict him at home or in the stable, when I was with my donkey. I remember that once, I had not even knelt down yet when he sent me away.

He knew I was there merely to observe his face so that I could later draw it. I was fascinated by his face, his gaze, his bushy eyebrows, his beard. His face showed a strong personality. Even though I was just a child, I really wanted to portray his facial features. However, Padre Pio never posed. Therefore, I had to observe him closely, and I had to memorize all the details so that I could remember them later. Once I was so insistent that Padre Pio eventually decided to pose. He simply did me a favor, and he could not wait until I finished. One day, I gathered some of my drawings and sketches, as well as a few watercolors, and I brought them to him. I wanted to ask him for advice. I wished to study art, but my family could not afford it, and I wanted to find out Padre Pio’s opinion.

“One of my works that I was showing him was a copy of the crucifixion painting by Guercino. He looked at it intensely. Then, he put his hand on my hand and said, ‘Be patient; God’s Providence will help you soon. In the meantime, keep praying.’ A year went by. There was a parish priest in Florence, don Benedetto Ricci, who was from San Giovanni Rotondo. When he came back to his village, Padre Pio appointed him to take some of my drawings to Florence, in order to show them to a few experts. One of these works was a colorful portrayal of Padre Pio. Once in Florence, don Ricci kept my drawings on a table in his house. One day, the Fancelli couple, who were both Padre Pio’s spiritual children, stopped by don Ricci’s house. They noticed Padre Pio’s portrait on the table, and they were impressed. They asked don Ricci who the artist was, and he explained to them that it was a young man from San Giovanni Rotondo who really hoped to study art. The Fancelli couple suggested then to take my works to Pietro Annigoni, a great artist from Milan, who was already famous at that time, an actual mostro sacro. When Annigoni gave a look at my drawings, he said, ‘This young man has some potential, but he

needs to forget everything and start all over again.’ The Fancelli couple were happy to hear his opinion, and somehow they also felt responsible for sponsoring me. For this reason, they decided to let me live with them in Florence so that I could study. However, they first talked with Padre Pio about it. He smiled and told them, ‘Of course! God bless you!’

“It was a dream come true. Florence was an artistic center; it was all I had wished for. Before leaving, I said goodbye to Padre Pio. I wanted to thank him because I knew he had prayed for me. He said ‘See? God’s Providence helped you. Go, and God bless you. Behave!’ It was 1954. I was about to start a new life. In Florence I even studied with Professor Nerina Simi, the daughter of the great painter Filadelfo Simi. She was also a superb artist. At the same time, I was welcomed to Annigoni’s workshop. It was a difficult but amazing school. In the 1960s, an art dealer from Palm Beach, Florida, got in touch with me. He took some of my works with him, and he noticed that the American audience appreciated them. He invited me to put on an exhibition in the United States, after which I became popular. When I told Padre Pio I was leaving for the United States, he blessed me and fatherly warned me: ‘Be careful! Do not make a bad impression!’

“I was always in touch with him. I visited him every year. He used to ask me, ‘How are you doing, pitturì (little painter)?’ Once, the friars of San Giovanni asked me to take care of some frescoes in the monastery. I remember a strange episode. I was working on the highest wall of a huge hall, on top of a scaffolding. All of a sudden, my foot was in the wrong position, and I lost my balance. I should have crashed into the ground, but something extraordinary took place. I felt confident, and I was not afraid. Like an acrobat, I nimbly stretched my arm, and I firmly grabbed the scaffolding. I did not understand how I had been able to do that. I looked below, and Padre Pio was there, staring at me. It all

made sense then. I am sure he protected me. I have to admit that I always perceived his presence next to me. I could even smell his scent, even when I was far away in Florence or in the United States. When I felt discouraged or when I was going through a hard time, I immediately perceived his typical sweet scent, which made me believe in myself.

“When Padre Pio died, I was in Southampton, New York. I learned the news from the newspapers. It is still difficult to describe my feelings. I was clearly sad, but I truly believed that Padre Pio was there, next to me. I got goose bumps. Since his death, the way I paint and portray him has changed. My works are now more mature, more spiritual. Padre Pio is always next to me, and he guides me and encourages me with his Christian strength.”

Close to Mystery

“Iwaslucky enough to meet Padre Pio. I did not forget his gaze because it was so powerful. There was pain in his eyes. His pain was a light that lit up the soul.”

This is what Ottaviano Ottaviani told me. He lives in Fossombrone, in the province of Pesaro and Urbino. He is seventy-eight years old, and he is now retired, but he used to be an insurance agent. He has been married to his wife, Marta, for fifty-six years, and they have five daughters and seven grandchildren. He attended the monastery of San Giovanni Rotondo from 1963 until 1968. “Being around Padre Pio was overwhelming. I can’t think of other words to better describe how I felt inside in those moments. Being around him meant moving closer to a great mystery. But at the same time, every kind of doubt or fear would disappear when I was next to him because he was extremely peaceful.”

Ottaviano’s smile is priceless. When you see it, you are sure it comes straight from his heart. The way he talks about Padre Pio, his enthusiasm, and the sweetness when he describes him are so engaging that while I listen to him, I feel like I am being cradled. It is like being under covers, under a blanket, while it is snowing outside.

“My first memory of Padre Pio dates back to when I was thirteen years old. I remember my mother at home, going up the stairs. She opened her right hand, where there was a small crucifix. One of Padre Pio’s spiritual children had given it to her. She looked radiant and said, ‘I smell a violet’s scent. . . . It is everywhere in the house. . . . It is Padre Pio’s scent!’

“Padre Pio became part of my family in 1957, when my aunt Iole got sick. She had pneumonia and typhus fever. She was feeling very bad, her temperature was high, around 40 degrees Celsius (104 degrees Fahrenheit), and it did not seem to go down. The doctors did not believe she would make it. Her mother, my grandmother Maria, was very devout. She repeatedly prayed to Padre Pio. As he suggested, she used to send her guardian angel to him. One night, something inexplicable happened. My aunt Iole saw Padre Pio sitting on the left side of her bed. He was calm and smiling. But her vision was more complex.

“My aunt told us that she had seen some flames on the wall next to her bed, like a sudden fire in her bedroom, while Padre Pio was on the opposite side. However, she was fascinated by the flames, rather than by Padre Pio. She stretched her hand in their direction. She was surprised to find that they did not emanate heat, but they were rather cool. They made her burned skin feel better. Then she heard Padre Pio’s voice that said, ‘These are the souls of Purgatory.’ At the same time, another voice coming from the flames said, ‘We are the holy souls of Purgatory.’ My aunt felt serene and in good health, and she fell asleep. When she woke up, she had recovered. The fever had disappeared, and her temperature was around 36.5 degrees Celsius (97.7 Fahrenheit). The scent of jasmine filled the air in the room. When the nurse who was taking care of my aunt walked into the room, she was surprised. She exclaimed, ‘Iole, you put on some perfume!’ My aunt thought she was joking. The scent was really intense, but

she probably could not smell it because she was surrounded by it. The doctor came and acknowledged her recovery. No following complications occurred.

“In 1963, my father moved from Ferrara to the Montedison in Brindisi, where he was in charge of the factory outlet. So we all moved to Apulia. We were no longer far from San Giovanni Rotondo. One day, my father took us to Padre Pio’s Mass. I remember the previous sleepless night because we had to leave very early, before sunrise. The closer we got to Gargano, the more excited we were. The church was crowded, and everyone was there for his Mass. On that day I realized what mystery is, and since then, Padre Pio has never left my heart. I visited him often. Once I even stayed there for eight days. Something amazing happened that week.

“I read a book that mentioned an event that impressed me. A group of pilgrims were on their way to San Giovanni Rotondo. They all asked their guardian angels to deliver their requests to Padre Pio. When he saw them the following day, he told them, ‘You are finally here! Your guardian angels did not let me sleep all night!’ Padre Pio really insisted on the existence and help of guardian angels. In the letters he wrote to his devotees, he often encouraged them to turn to their guardian angels. He used to write, ‘Send your guardian angel to me because it does not need a train ticket, and it won’t wear out its shoes.’

“In a letter he wrote to his spiritual director, Fr. Agostino da San Marco, he explains to him that his own guardian angel woke him up early every morning in order to pray with him. ‘When I close my eyes at night, I see heaven ahead of me,’ he wrote. ‘This vision delights me. I feel calm, and I fall asleep with a sweet smile on my face, waiting for my little childhood friend to wake me up so that we can say the morning prayers together.’ Padre Pio would always say to his devotees, ‘When you need me but you can’t visit

me, send your guardian angel to me with your message.’ One day, one of these devotees asked him. ‘Can you really hear what my guardian angel has to say to you?’ Padre Pio answered, ‘Well, do you think I am deaf?’

“After reading about these episodes, I decided to try something. While I was in San Giovanni Rotondo every day for a week, I hid myself behind a column of the church. I prayed to my guardian angel, and I sent it to Padre Pio. I said to it, ‘Go … now!’ In that exact moment, Padre Pio looked at me. I did it several times, and he always turned around, looking in my direction. On Sunday, after the Angelus and after blessing the faithful, I sent my guardian angel to him for the umpteenth time. Padre Pio burst out loudly, ‘What do you want? What do you want from me?’ He looked at me even though the church was overcrowded. I explained to him everything when I confessed to him, and he smiled.

“I remember another episode that took place during those days. While I was having dinner at my hotel, I saw a man sitting at a table near mine. He was emaciated, pale, and he had bags under his eyes. There was a big plate of pasta on the table in front of him, and I thought he was never going to eat it all. The owner of the hotel told me that the man had arrived in the morning, close to death. He had terminal stomach cancer. He was lying still on a stretcher, but then Padre Pio told him to get up. He immediately recovered, and now he was very hungry.

“What impressed me the most about Padre Pio was his modesty. He believed he was a sinner like all of us. I remember that when he said, ‘Mea culpa, mea maxima culpa’ during Mass, he hit his chest so vigorously that you could hear it resounding everywhere in the church. He did not like to be the center of attention. Once I even heard him threatening to call the police if people did not stop calling him a saint.

Close to Mystery

“There was another occurrence. It was 1966, and my eldest daughter, Maria Raffaella, was one year old. The right side of her face suddenly began to swell. We took her to the Sant’Orsola hospital in Bologna because we were so worried. The medical examinations lasted two months. The doctors eventually diagnosed her with parotid gland cancer. She needed surgery, but it would be complicated. It was the first surgery of that kind in Italy and the second one in all of Europe. Surgeons came from abroad. There were many risks, and the doctors told me that even if my daughter survived, she would be scarred forever.

“My wife took our daughter to Mass every day, and she implored the Virgin Mary’s pity. I prayed to Padre Pio, who was still alive. I sent my guardian angel to him, like I had done in the past. And on the day of the surgery, something unbelievable happened. The best cancer hospital in Italy had diagnosed my daughter with a tumor, and there were no doubts about it. During the surgery, however, the surgeons found a lipoma instead of a tumor, and they removed it. The surgery should have lasted twelve hours, but after only one hour, the doctors came out with tears in their eyes. They could not understand how a tumor could turn into a lipoma, but it happened. My daughter has always been in good health since then. Now she is married and has three children.”

An Orange and Candies

“Iwasone of Padre Pio’s altar boys,” engineer Michele Grifa says. “He is part of all my childhood memories. I was born in San Giovanni Rotondo. I lived 200 meters (650 feet) away from the monastery, and I went there every day. Together with other children, I helped him in the afternoon with the Rosary and Vespers, as well as on Sunday during Mass. If I close my eyes, I can still see him: he moved slowly, limping. When we were too agitated, he kindly clipped us round the ear. He smiled at us like a father and looked at us with his sweet eyes. His gaze embraced us. For the children of San Giovanni Rotondo, Padre Pio represented the everyday life, and he was a pillar during our growth.”

Engineer Grifa is sixty-six years old and lives in Viterbo, where he started his own business. I wanted to talk to him because of his experience as one of Padre Pio’s altar boys. I wanted to understand what it was like to be so close to him during Mass, which was the most important part of the day for the friar.

“I felt strong emotions serving as an altar boy, and this affected me. When I was a young man, I chose to attend the seminary because I wanted to become a friar. But Padre Pio already knew that it was not my destiny. He always knew everything.

“As I said, we lived near the monastery. Therefore, we often turned to Padre Pio for every kind of issue: if we needed his advice, his encouragement, or his blessing. My father, Giovanni, for example, came back home once the war was over. He had also been a prisoner of war. He immediately confessed to Padre Pio. ‘You are finally back!’ Padre Pio said. And he added, ‘So tell me, have you killed anyone?’ My father answered that he was a soldier, and he had to use a weapon sometimes. ‘Well, luckily you are not very good at shooting,’ Padre Pio said. This comment was very important to my father because it assured him he had not killed anyone. That is what Padre Pio’s comment meant.

“Those were difficult times, and poverty was common. There were no jobs, and working in the countryside was not profitable. My father decided to leave for Germany, like many others were doing. My mother was worried about being alone. She talked to Padre Pio about it, and he reassured her. ‘There are so many things to do here in San Giovanni … Do not worry; your husband will come back home!’ The following month, my father found a job at the local hospital, Casa Sollievo della Sofferenza, where he worked until he retired. So he was always close to his family.

“One of my first memories of Padre Pio dates back to 1959, when I was five years old. It was July 1, and Padre Pio inaugurated the new church, Santa Maria delle Grazie. It was the new church he had wished for. He was involved in the construction, and he had chosen the architect. The original church of the monastery that was there in 1916 when he arrived in San Giovanni Rotondo was too small. It could no longer welcome all the people that attended Mass, and on several occasions, Padre Pio had had to celebrate Mass outside. The new church was big and spacious, and it was the place where he spent most of his time until he died. When it was inaugurated, there were so many people, including important ones, and they all paid hom-

age to him. I remember I was holding my father’s hand, and my new shoes were squeaking as I walked.

“I have another memory from those days. My father used to go out at night. Together with other men, he patrolled the streets to avoid Padre Pio being carried off. I did not understand it at that time, but later I found out that the Vatican often gave orders to take Padre Pio away from San Giovanni Rotondo. They never managed to do it because the people were strongly opposed.

“In the evening, with many other people from our village, we used to go outside of Padre Pio’s cell, waiting for him to look out of the window and to greet the faithful, shaking his handkerchief. Other times, with my friends, we ran in the hallways of the monastery or in the basement of the church, where the crypt was being dug. The friars scolded us and told us that one day Padre Pio’s grave would be there. But I did not believe them: I thought that Padre Pio would never die.

“When I was six years old, I became one of his altar boys. I usually went to the monastery to play around four in the afternoon, together with my classmates, and in the evening, for the Rosary and the Vespers. On those occasions and also on Sunday, during Mass, we helped Padre Pio. When I was next to him, I could often notice his stigmata because when it was time for the Consecration, he took off the gloves that were hiding his wounds. I saw the blood, the dark palms. Sometimes a few ruby red drops dripped. We were not particularly surprised because we were used to it. We had no idea of the meaning of those sores. We can assert that we were used to the supernatural. If I think about it now, I have the shivers.

“Sometimes, the other altar boys and I were distracted. In those cases, Padre Pio’s face became surly, and he scolded us. He occasionally clipped us round the ear, but he did not really mean

to be bad. He did not even have much strength because of the sores on his hands. When we saw his serious gaze, we immediately toed the line. Above all, we were sorry to upset him. His gaze was always friendly and affectionate, even when he frowned at us. One day, Padre Pio gave me an orange and some candies, and I took them home. I felt like I had found a treasure, and I happily showed them to my mother. I ate the orange, and it was very tasty. I have never eaten such a tasty orange after that one. I shared the candies with my sisters.

“Padre Pio was there when I received my First Communion. And he was there for my sisters. At that time, it was common to receive First Communion at seven years old. My youngest sister, who was named Pia in honor of Padre Pio, was too young for her First Communion because she was only six years old. But Padre Pio insisted. He asked my parents, ‘What are you waiting for? It is the right time!’ He was aware of my sister’s spirituality more than anybody else. He thought she was mature enough to receive Holy Communion, and my parents trusted him and agreed. Pia got ready in one month, and she received her First Communion in July of 1968. Padre Pio died two months later. It seems like he wanted my sister to receive her First Communion before his death.

“After all those years spent in the monastery close to Padre Pio, I thought that maybe I could become a monk, too. My vocation was not very strong, and I later changed my mind. But when I was ten years old, I actually believed that was my destiny. I talked to Padre Pio about it, and I told him I wanted to go to Pietrelcina for the seminary. He smiled at me: ‘Go! But you will be back!’ Apparently, he already knew that I would change my mind. After my last year of high school, I realized indeed that I was not meant for that kind of life. I had finished a year of novitiate in Morcone, where Padre Pio had also been a novice in 1903. But I understood

I had to do something different, so I enrolled in college and became an engineer.

“When Padre Pio died on September 23, 1968, I was still attending the seminary. I remember I was woken up at sunrise, and I heard those terrible words: ‘Michele, hurry up; Padre Pio has died!’ We all went to San Giovanni Rotondo to go to the funeral. At that time, I could feel the painful but not permanent loss. Even though I could not see him, I knew Padre Pio was next to me. I could always feel his presence next to me. I often smelled his flower scent. I smelled it suddenly, not under specific circumstances. It still happens nowadays, and it gives me incredible courage and serenity.”